Lyrics Every Day Carry - Dry Cleaning

Every Day Carry

It’s chocolate chip cookie
Crappy crazy pizzas
Your haircut’s changed
It’s every day carry
You’re a gift to me, nice party ice
You’re an individual cream bun
It’s chocolate chip cookie
Crappy crazy pizzas
It’s all good though
Look at that
Looks like good quality earth
I’m just a conduit
Don’t look at me
I’m just the medium
Your haircut’s changed for charity
Can you imagine the rent?
I want big pearl
A people person, these are the eyeholes
A banging pasta bake, Müller corner, onions, orchids
The smear test blues
Put a shawl on that mannequin mate
Can you imagine the rent?
I want big pearl
It’s a light emitting diode
It’s a long nail story
It’s a dead hand tree
Best friends forever
It’s everyday carry
It’s bad luck if you’re the tree left at the edge of the motorway when they
clear the forest for a motorway, you lose your friends and you’re exposed.
You used to be in the thick of it, everything you knew ripped away.
Two fingers up to you, you wastrel, that’s my shopping trolley you’re
approaching
Uninviting, just body bits
Your haircut’s changed
You’re a gift to me
Nice party ice
You’re an individual cream bun
Look at that
Uninviting, just body bits
Your haircut’s changed
I don’t know how I feel he’s fit but I think he might be
Residual Pop Rocks in the mouth of your cab driver
Drop what you’re doing, let’s get to the tip
Droopy flute solo comes in now
Galump lump
Huge white geese please us all
Major massive arsehole
All the children say «I've got enchanted eggs»
My beautiful restaurant
Let’s go, Jim
My beautiful restaurant
Now it seems like none of that meant anything
A sugared armpit, a roast potato on a long branch
More spice, plans conceived in love
A Ferrari with a license plate that says T337H
Bambino
What a cruel heartless bastard you are
Welcome to hell
Keep up with it all, be nice, try to maintain high energy and don’t bring
everyone down
In matching soft brown tank top
I just can’t creep comfortably anymore
Paper thin skin covers hands and hollow cheeks
Must I look at my belly in the mirror?
Must I belly in the mirror?
A thing in the past
Your own personal fatberg, homemade
I’m confused
Ready to cut loose
Sherlock Holmes Museum of break ups
Wait an hour for a pancake, make it larger, build it up
I don’t mind, I’m happy either way
I dunno, what’s the point?
You actually smell like garbage
Every one of them looks a tit
I’m not gonna lie, it’s daunting choreography but I’m gonna bring it all the
same
I just want to put something positive into the world but it’s hard because I’m
so full of poisonous rage
It’s all well and good you saying that, but I need more
Keep up with it all, be nice
I just can’t creep comfortably
Curtains always closed